


Trust

by hopeless_romantic_spoonie



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Actor Tom Hiddleston, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 13:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22496896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/pseuds/hopeless_romantic_spoonie
Summary: Finding just the right actor to star in the movie based on your book wasn't an easy process. And then Tom Hiddleston walked into the room, and he may solve more than just your casting concerns.
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Reader, Tom Hiddleston/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yespolkadot_kitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/gifts).



> This was in response to a request sent to me on tumblr!
> 
> I know absolutely nothing about the movie-making process, so please, be gentle and just enjoy the fic despite what I'm sure are some glaring errors on that front!

“Next!”

“He was really good. You sure you didn’t like him?”

You closed your eyes and dropped your forehead onto your hand supported by your elbow on the folding table in front of you. When you had been contacted by your agent that a studio wanted to turn your best-selling novel into a movie, it felt like a dream come true. A whirlwind of paid flights, lunch meetings, negotiations, and signed contracts led you to your spot next to the casting director, several producers, and director for the movie. You were lucky that they were taking your opinion into consideration at all, and you didn’t want to create waves, but there hadn’t been a man reading for the main role yet that felt _right_.

From several one-note actors to a few who were way off the mark to those who showed up completely unprepared, nobody had made you feel the gripping tension of the troubled but earnest character of Joshua Collins, the struggling artist and male half of your romantic tale.

“Hello, my name is Tom Hiddleston, and I’d like to audition for the role of Joshua Collins.”

That _voice_. Sophistication roughened with the barest hint of anxiety and smoothed out by a full baritone that dripped honey. Your head popped up from your hand to take in the sheepishly grinning man in front of you. He was tall, so tall that it took an eternity for your eyes to drag from the worn boots on his feet, up the slim legs expertly encased in blue slacks, over the broad chest that strained at the thin fabric of his light blue button-up shirt, to a face that had to have been sculpted by the finest craftsmen with planes and shadows to highlight his arresting stare.

The lines that he read through with a producer’s assistant sounded as if they came straight from your creative imaginings. He _was_ Joshua. The ability he had to convey such emotion with the tilt of his head, the press of his lips, or even the very act of taking a breath to sustain his speech was enough to render you utterly transfixed. Even the silence that fell over the room as he gathered his thoughts for a response had you tense and gripping your pen until your knuckles lightened as you waited with bated breath for a reply you had memorized before he’d strolled in. But with him it was new, organic, somehow spontaneous and heartfelt and so true it resonated deep in your bones.

And then he stood from the chair he had fallen into with an easy, relieved smile on his face as he smoothed his hand down the front of his shirt. “Thank you all for sharing your time with me today. And, if I may,” he shifted his attention from the studio bigwigs to you, “I absolutely adored the raw humanity in your novel. I hope that I can bring it to life for you.”

The sound of the door closing seemed to break the spell that had fallen over the room. You shared a knowing look first with the casting director and then the director herself.

“Joe, please tell those remaining that auditions have been canceled,” Sam smiled, scribbling something in her portfolio in front of her. “We have our man.”

~

Had you picked up all of the loose bits of trash scattered around your room? Sure, the staff had cleaned that morning, but that didn’t mean that you hadn’t found some way to dirty it since then. Would bottled water be okay? Maybe he preferred coffee. Hotel coffee wasn’t ever the greatest, but it would do in a pinch. Right? And should you have put on nicer clothes? Maybe-

A light, rhythmic knock sounded on your door, stopping your anxious thoughts and making you freeze from where you were bent over making sure the hem of your jeans wasn’t rolled over.

Another knock, and you quickly righted yourself, running your hand over your hair to tame any flyaways as you scurried to the door. Tom stood on the other side, holding two beers in one hand and a thick leather folio in the other.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me before rehearsals begin. May I come in?”

As if anyone would turn down Tom Hiddleston, especially when he came bearing beer. You stepped to the side, allowing him to pass by, leaving behind the very masculine scent of bergamot and citrus in the air that stirred between you. “Of course. You look like you’re ready to attend a class or something.”

He placed everything down on the tiny table meant to be a desk before turning to you with a small smile. His large hands rubbed against his jeans on the outside of his thighs. “Admittedly, I am a bit of a fan of your writing. An avid fan, actually. I was hoping that you wouldn’t mind too terribly if we discussed the book? I want to ensure I fully bring this character to life as you so masterfully wrote it.”

Color you shocked. Sure, you had received plenty of praise for your book throughout this process, the paycheck was evidence enough that it was liked, but to have someone that _you_ personally admired for their own set of talents compliment it was another thing entirely. Working to school your face so that your excitement didn’t show, you grabbed the beer he opened and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Ask away, Mr. Hiddleston.”

Draping his long and lithe form into the faded desk chair, he opened his folio and uncapped a pen that looked more expensive than the entirety of your outfit. “Tom, please. We will be working closely together, and we are neighbors in this hotel as well. Formalities are not necessary.”

“Okay,” you nodded and took a swig of liquid courage. “ _Tom_ , what would you like to know?”

Questions and answered flowed easily after a few stuttering moments on both sides of the conversation. You were only struck dumb once or twice from the intensity of his thoughtful stare, and you found yourself both grateful and saddened when it would leave you to focus on the copious notes he scribbled down in the folio on his thigh. You’d never felt so heard as to when he watched you ramble on about plot points and motivation and character development, with his hand rasping against the five o’clock shadow that darkened his razor-sharp jawline and his brows furrowed.

Only when you stifled a yawn behind your hand did he seem to pull himself from the focused notes he had been taking after you explained a more difficult aspect of Joshua’s past. He glanced at the leather-strapped watch on his arm, frowning. “I do believe that I have kept you up far too late. I apologize. I should be going so that you may rest for overseeing rehearsals tomorrow. You _will_ be there, correct?”

“I think so, yeah. Unless I’m needed for consultation on a last-minute script change, I think that’s where I’m supposed to be. I’m not really sure how all of this works,” you admitted with a light laugh.

He walked with you to the door after tossing both his and your bottles in the trash and gathering his things that had spread out over the desk. “If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. I know how overwhelming all of this can be. Until then, I very much look forward to seeing you. Goodnight.”

The clasp of his hand on your shoulder was heavy, stretching across your skin with a pleasant warmth that you wanted to curl into and bask in forever. You reached up and patted his hand gently before opening the door. “Goodnight.”

Sure enough, when you watched him head back to his room in the hotel meant to house you for the entirety of the filming project, he disappeared into the room directly next to yours.

The faint scent of his cologne lingered on your clothing as you ducked back into your room to prepare yourself as best as you could for the unknown journey ahead.

~

In all your days, you’d never met someone as motivated and driven as Tom. When he wasn’t rehearsing, he was exercising, or building comradery between the cast and crew that he would be spending the next year with, or even, to your astonishment, spending time with you.

It had begun under the guise of him delving deep into his character with you over beers and room service. Then it had switched to other books in your catalog, and then, when you had begged off any serious thinking because you’d spent all day arguing with the writers, it changed into something more personal.

You walked onto set holding two travel tumblers precariously with one arm and your overstuffed binder in the other. A meeting with your agent that morning discussing the press tour preceding the premiere of the movie had gone on longer than expected, and you couldn’t wait to sit down and just watch Tom and the cast act out the inner workings of your imagination over the coffee you clutched. The idea of going for so many interviews and appearances weighed heavily on you. To be the object of so much attention wasn’t why you had gone into writing.

But, perhaps _this_ was. 

Tom looked quite frustrated as he talked to Sam, the director, in the middle of the set, about a pivotal point in the film where he admits his love to the female lead (who does not feel the same), and he barely glanced your way as you settled in. His hands flew in front of him with every gesture, fingers spread wide and then clenched tightly into fists at his side. Some conclusion must have been reached because Sam came back to her spot behind the monitors and Tom got into place.

It was obvious to everyone that something was off. You especially, as the dialogue didn’t fit what you had written with the screenwriters for the scene. After the cameras stopped rolling so Sam could talk to Tom once again, whose performance had been stilted and unnatural, you turned to your assistant with a frown heavily etched into your skin. “Was there a rewrite?”

She didn’t even look up from the email she was typing away on her phone. “Yes, ma’am. Just given to everyone this morning. I sent it to your email.”

Groaning quietly, you slipped your coffee and belongings into pockets on the sides of your chair and stood up, holding Tom’s tea in your hand. When you caught his eye you raised it in the air and he nodded. He could come get a drink from it when he had a moment. 

That moment came much faster than you expected. He held up one finger to Sam, and you barely caught him plead, “Let me take a drink before we run it again,” before he jogged over to you.

“What’s going on?” you asked, offering him the steaming tea and crossing your arms over your stomach.

He took a deep drink and sighed, closing his eyes to savor the flavor and moment of peace before opening them to look wearily down at you. Irritation lived in the lines between his brows and in the press of his lips together. “The rewrites simply don’t feel like Joshua. I don’t feel as if they line up with his motivations. I-” he sighed heavily, dropping his chin to his chest and putting his free hand on his hip.

You stepped closer to him so that he was forced to meet the determined set of your eyes. Of its own accord, your hand reached out and grasped his. He returned the tight grip and your heart squeezed right along with it. _Not the time._

“You know him. You’ve brought him to life and fleshed him out into a fuller being than my words ever did. I-”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re immensely talented,” he interjected.

“I’m not. I’m praising _your_ talent. I’ll go fight Sam if I have to, to just get one take like it was written before they changed it. That’s all I can probably get you. Can you do it?”

He took a bracing sip of his tea before handing the travel mug back to you. Gratitude reflected in the stormy blue of his eyes. “I can. Thank you.”

And then he jogged off back to the set, speaking quietly with the female lead, Mary, about the plan. Which left you to face Sam, hopefully, to throw around what little bit of weight you had. In all honesty, she could put a stopper on the whole situation and force Tom to follow the rewrites. But he was watching you with such hope and support that it bolstered your confidence enough to set down his drink and go over to her.

“What’s going on?”

Sam was a fierce woman, having clawed her way up through the ranks to get her position, and it was easy to want to cower under the steel of her stare. Taking a deep breath, you held out your hands at your sides. “The rewrites aren’t working, Sam. He knows it, Mary knows it, and I know it. Can we just try it the way it was written before? Even if it doesn’t work like we hope, then he’ll have gotten it out of his system and we can move on with shooting.”

She studied you, pinning you to the spot as you tried desperately not to fidget while waiting for her verdict. She maintained eye contact when she shouted to the remarkably silent cast and crew, “ _One_ take with the old lines and blocking.”

The knowledge that your reputation was very much on this decision weighed heavily on your shoulders as you nodded your thanks before heading back to your chair. Getting situated, you cradled your coffee in your hands and inhaled the calming aroma as you watched everyone scurry around to get ready for the slight change in blocking and places.

And then action was called, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Tom’s heart was broken and shattered into a million pieces at Mary’s rejection. The anguish he expressed through ragged breaths and glistening eyes was enough to make you want to run from your place and gather him into the safety of your arms in a futile attempt to put him back together. The scene went on naturally after it was meant to finish, Sam not calling cut, and he collapsed into a heap on his knees and ripped the sketchbook before him to shreds before letting out a scream of pain that would haunt you for the rest of your days.

“Cut.”

An intern ran onto the set and handed Tom several tissues, which he took with a watery smile. Every muscle in your body tensed as you waited for Sam’s reaction.

“Reset. Tom, take a moment and collect yourself. Frank, make sure that you’re tighter on his face right after she turns him down. Lisa, good idea on the sketchbook. Get the rest that you have. Good work, people.”

Tom stood up and was instantly surrounded by hair and makeup to fix the mess that he’d made of himself with his heartfelt performance. But, over their bobbing heads, he managed to look at you and mouth, “Thank you.”

The happiness and relief that soared through your veins were more exhilarating than coffee would ever be.

~

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Your fingers stilled over your laptop, the words of your latest piece of fiction ceasing in your head at the peculiar sound. Did someone just knock on your wall? Surely the sounds of your quiet music weren’t too loud.

_Knock. Knock._

Hesitantly, you twisted in your bed, pressing your ear to the thin beige wall, and rapped against it three times. When there wasn’t an answering knock, you turned around and pressed your back against your pile of pillows to continue tapping away at what you hoped could possibly be another movie brought to life.

And then the same steady knocks sounded on the door to your hotel room. Confused, you closed your laptop and set it to the side, padding to the door in your pajamas. You opened the door with a confused frown to see Tom standing on the other side, holding a covered tray from room service, exhaustion living in the slump of his shoulders and pull on the corners of his mouth.

“On occasion, I find it hard to wind down after filming. Since you’re awake, I was hoping we could share this piece of chocolate cake and chat a bit?”

Suddenly very shy at your mismatched pajamas and air-dried hair from your shower, you blushed, waving him inside. “How can I turn down cake?”

You closed the door behind him and sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening that you had remembered to pick up your dirty clothes from earlier in the day. Turning around, you found Tom sitting cross-legged on the bed, chocolate crumbs on his lips that you longed to clean with your own. “Were you writing? I can leave. I don’t want to disturb you?”

“Nonsense. The ideas are in my notes. I can always make time for you, especially if you ply me with sweets.” You crawled onto the bed next to him and snagged the fork from his hand, taking a bite. “You sure know a way to a girl’s heart.”

His face softened as he nudged your knee with his. “You think very highly of me. On that note, thank you, today, for believing in me.”

“Of course. You are the most talented man I’ve ever met. I trust your gut.”

The rest of the cake was eaten in relative silence, your eyes chasing each other in fleeting glances that had your heart racing in your chest. There was something much more intimate about sharing a dessert in your pajamas, on your bed, than your other late-night meetings in your room. Was it the electric brush of his fingers over yours when you passed the fork to him, or the knowledge that your lips were touching where his had only moments ago? Would he taste like the rich dessert you shared?

Yearning for the charismatic man had grown in you since that first meeting at his audition. How could it not? He was kind, seeking to meet and know every person he interacted with on set. You were not the exception, as your late-night meetings had proved. His intelligence knew no bounds, and you had put it to the test with rousing discussions from everything to literature to current events to Shakespeare to politics. And the fondness that you caught in his gaze from time to time set a warmth alight in your bones that you wanted to live in for the rest of your days. Every brush of his body against yours had you aware of the heat he left behind for hours, and you had long ago imprinted the feeling of his lips upon your cheek in a quick greeting kiss into your memory.

You must have been staring during your descent into your hopelessly pining thoughts, as he was watching you closely with an eyebrow quirked in silent question, when you pulled yourself from your reverie.

“Sorry,” you shook your head, blinking the madness of your wishes away. “Long day. What’d you say?”

“I said that you have a bit of chocolate on your face. Would you like me to get it for you?” he asked quietly.

He didn’t wait for an answer. His thumb brushed against your cheek, sending the smallest shiver down your spine, before he pulled the digit into his mouth. The silence that stretched beneath his darkened gaze held you frozen to the spot. Your face burned where he had fleetingly touched you.

“Were it not for professionalism…” he murmured, a hint of anguish in his voice as his eyes traveled down your face to settle on your parted lips.

How was it possible that you felt like a schoolgirl again? Your heart hammered in your chest so loudly that it seemed impossible to take a deep enough breath to stop your head from spinning. You shifted on the bed, closer to him, peering up at him through your lashes. “You’d?”

He sighed and scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck before lighting it on your face. Holding you still, he leaned forward, pressing his lips against your cheek in a lingering kiss that had your stomach clench in anticipation. Your hands dug into the scratchy duvet beneath you to keep from resting on his abdomen to see if he had the same reaction to the tension that stretched between you like a livewire.

He left one more kiss on your temple, breathing you in and stroking your jawline with his thumb, before pulling away and standing up from the bed with a groan. “You are temptation personified. It would be an injustice to us both if any romantic notions got in the way of your brilliant storytelling. After, though…”

The promise in his lowered voice and the inferno of his eyes was enough to temporarily sate you as you watched him walk out of the door with a shake of his head. Writing for that evening was out of the question as you fell asleep with the remnants of his touch warm on your skin and his cologne perfuming your sheets.

~

“Did you hear the news?”

You turned from where you were scrolling through your phone at the filming wrap party, perking up at the liquid velvet voice that broke through the terrible house music Sam had requested from the DJ. Tom leaned his shoulder against the very wall that currently propped you up, his head tilted to the side in a way that had your belly fluttering like mad.

“News?”

His hands shoved into the pockets of his navy blazer. “We’ll be on the press tour together, for the movie. The studio wanted someone paired up with you that had a bit more experience with such matters, and I volunteered. I guess you aren’t rid of me yet.”

“As if I’d want such a thing,” you admitted with a quiet laugh. Any anxieties that you'd had about making an idiot of yourself for the worldwide press tour were now replaced with doing the very same, but perhaps now you'd be caught ogling Tom while he waxed on about the movie. Or perhaps you'd simply go mad spending so much time with him in close quarters while jet setting across the globe. Was there time for romantic interludes when you were answering the same twenty questions in twenty different countries?

He stood up straight and offered his arm with a cheeky grin, “At the risk of removing the woman of the hour from the party, would you accompany me outside for a bit of fresh air?”

The mischief that twinkled in his eyes was impossible to ignore. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow. “Says the leading man of the movie and an actual ray of sunshine. Lead on.”

The bar that they’d rented for the evening opened out onto a busy street that replaced the booming music with honking horns and bustling crowds hurrying home. His arm fell to hang at his side, and he caught your hand with his and laced your fingers together before pulling you behind a bit of greenery out front that hid you from prying eyes both inside and outside.

“Along with attending the press tour with you, I was hoping I could accompany you to the premiere?” he asked, leaned against the roughened brick wall behind him, tugging you closer until you stood in between his spread legs. The chilled wind was most unwelcome at your back, but the warmth of the man in front of you was more than enough to make the stolen privacy comfortable.

Your free hand picked a bit of lint from his crimson sweater before stilling, connected to his ribs by just your pointer finger and thumb, drawn into his heat with the bite of the winter air through your thin party dress. “You know what they’ll say.”

Tom was an incredibly private man, and it might create more talk than he’d want to deal with to show up with a date. You’d love more than anything to spend the evening on his arm, basking in his charismatic glow, but not if it caused him any headache or heartache.

His breath, scented with bittersweet alcohol, fanned across your face as his hand settled onto your hip. That simple touch branded your goose-bump covered skin and had you leaned into him until you had to crane your head backward to meet his tender stare. “That I was chivalrous in escorting the novelist who allowed me the opportunity to embody her treasured characters? That it was very thoughtful of me to ensure that you didn’t feel tossed to the sharks for your first red carpet event?”

With just the drop of his chin, his forehead leaned against yours. “Say yes?”

The nudge of his nose along yours, the rub of his thumb over the thin skin on the back of your hand, the push of his leanly muscled chest against yours with every breath, gave you enough courage to close your eyes and touch your lips to his in the kiss that had been denied you months ago. He groaned softly into your parted lips, releasing his hold on you to press his hands over the curve of your backside so you were flush against him. Fire scorched at your insides from the tease of his tongue and you tumbled headfirst into the passion that he finally stoked to life after it had been smoldering between you for so very long.

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly against his jaw, pulling away to draw air into your tortured lungs, kneading your fingers gently over his rapidly beating heart.

Leaning against him, with his arms wrapped around you so that your face found a comfortable home in the smooth column of his throat, you closed your eyes and gave in to the enticing man that had caught your attention so very long ago. With Tom by your side, and perhaps even in your bed, you were safe in the knowledge that you wouldn’t have to navigate this new world alone.


End file.
